


When the Sky Falls

by FailSafePrime



Series: We Will Face it All Together [1]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Skyfall, Angst, Dench!M is Q's mother, FieldAgent!Q, Fluff, James And Q are married, James can sometimes be silly, M/M, Misunderstandings, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailSafePrime/pseuds/FailSafePrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyfall AU. Ten years ago, Quinn (Q) and James met, fell in love and got married. What neither of them knew was that they both worked for MI6. When James, on a mission to Bolivia, captures a snapshot of his husband chasing a known terrorist over rooftops, confronts him. The resulting fight sent Q fleeing the house and unable to reach James, M sends Q to Istanbul after a missing hard drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the End

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a mixture of three or so different ideas that slapped me while I was writing [On Wings of Steele](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1215961/chapters/2488168).
> 
> Warning: Short Chapters.

~*~

Quinn Bond looked up from the photographs and the MI6 ID to his husband, his face pale and calm as he set the photos and ID onto the table.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked quietly, resigned to what he was sure was his death for some unknown truth beyond his clearance he must have encountered without knowing, “Why has M sent you to watch me?”

“Cut the crap, Quinn,” James Bond snarled, “There is no reason to play around. If you’re not going to tell the truth then there is no point to my being here. I want you out.”

Quinn felt his heart sink, “James…” he started only to be cut off.

“OUT!” James roared, flinging his mobile at the younger man.

Quinn knew better than to test the patience of a field agent at the end of his rope. He ducked the flying mobile, wincing as it shattered against the wall, and fled, pausing only to grab his overnight bag and laptop.

Back in the flat, James covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the image of his husband, eyes wide with hurt and exhaustion. Furious that he felt guilty for driving the younger spy out of their shared flat, he swept the photos off the table with a snarl and threw the nearest thing he could lay his hands on, an empty mug, at the photos on the mantle. The frames clattered to the ground as the mug shattered against the wall. James stalked to the liquor cabinet and pulled out another bottle of scotch. Foregoing the glass, he pulled straight from the bottle. Within several hours, he was roaring drunk. Seven hours after driving his husband out of the flat, he was dead to the world in an alcohol-induced stupor.

His shattered mobile would never receive the priority call from MI6, and thus, when James emerged from the haze in the morning, regretful and thinking more clearly despite the hangover, he would be unable to reach the younger agent. When he fails to reach his husband on the phone he lifts off one of his neighbors on the lifts, he smashes that also and leaves the roof. Brokenhearted and angry that his husband apparently distrusted him so much that he’d severed all ties because of an ill-timed confrontation and a fury fueled by post-mission adrenaline, James would seek solace in the bottom of a bottle once more.

~*~

Quinn retreats to the MI6 issued flat that he hadn’t used since he married James. He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. He’s not sure when he dropped his bag onto the floor next and slid to the floor and buried his face against his knees, but he doesn’t much care. He stays that way with his back pressed against the door wondering when everything had changed and if everything he’d known—thought he’s known—about James Bond was a lie.

He doesn’t know how long he was in that position mourning his relationship, which must surely end in divorce once James crawls out of the bottle in a few days time, but it is the shrill tones of his phone ringing that pulls him back to reality. He fumbles through his pockets and pulls out the phone and is startled to see M’s number on the screen.

“003,” he says in greeting, glad that his voice is only slightly hoarse. He tries not to think what M might think he’s been doing before receiving her call, not that she’d be surprised if the call had come as he goes down on his husband. But that’s not the case anymore, is it?

“003,” M said, crisply, “A computer containing sensitive information about undercover agents embedded in terrorist cells around the world has gone missing.” Quinn stiffens, all thought of James gone. “Agent Ronson is tracking it. You will rendezvous with him in Istanbul. A car is on its way to take you to Heathrow immediately.”

“Understood,” Quinn says as he hauls himself to his feet and ends the call. He grabs his bag and dashes into the bedroom and haphazardly dumps the soiled clothing into the hamper and stuffs in a fresh suit. A quick shower and a fresh suit later, he was downstairs, bag slung over his shoulder, waiting for the car that would take him to the airport.

When he is shot off the top of a train three days later, his last thought before he plunges into the river below is of heartbroken blue eyes set in a beloved face.

~*~

**Three days later**

James is dragged kicking and screaming out of his alcohol induced slumber by an insistent hammering on his door. He groaned, head pounding as the effects of the hangover made itself known. Then the door of the flat was kicked in by, of all people, Alec and M stalks into the flat with an expression of disapproval. Alec’s face is a mix of blank and grieving, and it makes James wonder what had happened.

“You worthless man,” M said, her voice cold and furious. “I should have known you would be here drinking when England needed you most. Get up, Bond. We need you to track down a man in Istanbul and retrieve a hard drive.”

“Send Quinn,” James growled, “Since apparently you trust him enough to have him spying on me.”

“I already have,” M snapped.

“Then why do you need me?”

“Because six hours ago, he was shot off the top of a train just outside Istanbul.”

And suddenly the raw grief on Alec’s face makes sense. James feels his heart drop into his stomach and his blood turn to ice. “What?”

M’s features do not soften in the slightest. “We need you to finish what 003 started. Get up, Bond, and go bathe. England needs you. Now more than ever.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” James can barely force the words out. All he can think of is Quinn. Oh, god, Quinn.

~*~

TBC


	2. Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change

**Three months later**

M strode into her house and just as she set down her keys, there was a knock at her window. She reached for her gun as a dark figure entered the room. She relaxed as the figure reached over and turned on the light, and she recognized the slender form, now skinnier than was strictly healthy.

“Where the hell have you been?” she snapped.

Normally light green eyes are dark as he answered, “Enjoying death,” the words are as clipped and posh as they ever were.

“Your husband missed you,” M said calmly.

“How curious,” 003, Quinn Bond nee Mansfield said drily as he stepped into the light, “From the way he reached for his gun last we spoke, I would have thought him relieved to be rid of me.”

“He regrets it.”

“I am not here to argue about whether or not James Bond regrets his last words to me,” Quinn said sharply, “I am here because my mother’s office was recently bombed. And last I heard, the drive was still missing. Thanks for that, by the way. ‘Take the Shot,’ I think you said?”

“That was a judgment call,” M said, tired.

“You should have trusted me!”

“Do you expect me to apologize, Quinn? Because I won’t. Regret is unprofessional.”

Quinn’s lips twitched wryly, “You’re a hard woman, M,” his posture relaxed slightly, “003, reporting for duty.”

M scoffed, “Well you had best get cleaned up. Your tests will be in the morning. And a shower wouldn’t be amiss either.”

“Very well,” Quinn shrugged, “I’ll just go back to my flat and get changed—“

“Oh, you no longer have a flat,” M said as the young man made for the door, “Bond sold it and put your things into storage.”

“James sold my flat?” Quinn paused, wondering why he was surprised.

“Of course he did,” M replied, “It’s standard protocol for when a married agent dies. Their spouse deals with all their effects. Now, don’t you wish you had called?”

Quinn blinked and recovered himself, “Well. I’d best get a hotel, then, shouldn’t I?”

M scoffed as she strode past the younger man for the heart of the house, “Well you certainly are not sleeping here.”

~*~

Alec leaned against wall of the tunnel as he blew a stream of smoke into the air. “I heard that medical is readying a set up to test 003 today,” he said, glancing to the haggard face of his friend. “Are you going to be alright?”

“It’s been three months,” James said reasonably, “it’s not possible to keep functioning one Double-Oh short. Not now.”

Alec sighed, “It means they’re replacing Quinn, though.”

“Quinn won’t mind,” James said ruthlessly, “He knows how things work.”

And that there was why Alec worried about James; it wasn’t the amount of weight he’d lost over the last three months; it was James’ tendency to talk about Quinn in the present tense. It wasn’t healthy and Alec sometimes feared that he’d come home from a mission to find James had eaten his gun. He knew M shared the same worry, it was why she had set an agent to watch James though Alec wondered at the wisdom of setting the same agent who had shot Quinn to keep James alive.

The first few days had been the easiest as well as hardest. Double-Ohs went off the grid all the time, but they always called in within a few weeks. The mingled hope and sorrow in James’ eyes had been the hardest to bear. Then as days became weeks and weeks became months, the hope faded from James’ eyes bit by bit, and the overwhelming grief hit. It was almost as bad as the incident with Vesper, who had reminded both James and Alec of Quinn, only unlike with Vesper, there was no loving husband back home to catch James and soothe away the hurt, though unknowingly. Alec knew that keeping James alive was fast becoming a full time job, especially since he’d become reckless to the point of suicidal.

Alec sighed again and checked his watch as he crushed his cigarette against the wall of the tunnel and flicked it away. He did not feel right, leaving James for a mission at this time, when someone was attacking MI6 and Quinn was being replaced.

“Car should be here now,” he said reluctantly, “Take care of yourself, James.”

James didn’t answer, though he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Safe travels, Alec.”

~*~

Quinn mourned the loss of Boothroyd. He always allowed Quinn to calm his mind by tinkering with something down in Q Branch. In fact, just before the Istanbul mission, he and Boothroyd had been planning the changes and upgrades to MI6’s network infrastructure. Quinn knew that with Boothroyd dead, there would be a new Quartermaster, and he doubted that the new Q would be as receptive as the previous Q to a Double-Oh making changes to the network or hanging around to play with Q Branch prototypes. He knows intuitively that most of the newer Q Branch members, the young, computer literate boffins from his generation would have an absolute disdain for field agents, thinking them to be little more than brainless blunt instruments or worse, obsolete. Quinn doesn’t hold his breath in hope that the new Q would like him.

As he meets the new Quartermaster in the National Gallery in front of the painting of the Fighting Temeraire, Quinn’s suspicions are confirmed. The new Q is condescending and patronizing to the extreme. Quinn, who knows that he can code better than this brain dead idiot, feels justified in his sarcastic barbs. When he sees the kit he’s being issued, Quinn stifles the urge to snort, and disguises it as a sneeze instead, because God! The moron is issuing him a palm coded Walther and a radio, both of which are merely copies of Boothroyd’s own designs. Age is clearly not an indication of either experience or innovation.

He says nothing of his opinion though, and takes his kit and leaves. When Q commands him imperiously to bring back his equipment, Quinn makes a snap decision. For as long as he is a Double-Oh and this moron is Quartermaster, he’ll take a page out of James and Alec’s book. He’ll destroy the equipment if he can, and if not, he’ll find a way to squirrel it away to play with. Either way, he’ll not make life easy for the pompous ass.

~*~

He didn’t try to remember her name; in fact, he went out of his way to forget it. It was unprofessional of him, he knew, but James didn’t much care that the woman beside him had been facing astronomically high odds of shooting their own agent when M had given the order. He hated her for shooting Quinn when ordered to take the shot. And he hated M for calling Quinn when she couldn’t reach James, hated her for giving the order that cost him Quinn and any hope of reconciliation.

If M had not called for Quinn, then after a day or two, Quinn would have come home for his things, and James would not have let him go until he’d had all his answers. Once they’d cleared the air, James would have pressed Quinn into the sofa and fucked him. They’d have fucked hard and rough with more than a hint of anger toward each other for the lack of trust and they would have learned from each other that their meeting had not been orchestrated. Afterward, they would have made up the way they had in other fights in the past with a long talk and a round of lovemaking, slow and tender.

Then, if they died on a mission later, they would have died knowing that they loved each other. Instead, Quinn had died thinking himself betrayed and unloved. Quinn had died thinking everything he and James had built had been a lie.

James had to learn from M and Boothroyd that the meeting had been unplanned. That the only interference from the two had been to keep them apart in MI6; to make sure they never encountered each other on a mission, that they were never gone too long, and to make sure they didn’t get killed and leave the other behind.

None of that would make up for the fact that Quinn was gone.

To add insult to injury, he now had a babysitter in the form of the woman who had shot Quinn.

And now he was being sent to Macau with the woman who had killed his husband and they were ordered to help the interloper who was replacing Quinn. Unprofessional or no, James was fully prepared to hate him, whoever he was, for no other reason than the fact that he was not Quinn.

The female agent knocked on the door and called in a cheerful voice that made James want to strangle her, “Room service!”

“I didn’t order anything,” a heart wrenchingly familiar voice replied drily as she opened the door, “Not even you.”

James felt his heart leap into his throat at the glimpse of tousled black hair and green eyes. Impossible. Quinn was dead. Surely if he had been alive, Quinn would have called? Quinn knew he was loved, so surely he would have called to let them know he was alive?

 _Not if,_ whispered a cruel voice in his mind, _he thought he was about to be terminated anyway. If he thought for a single moment he would be killed, if he thought he had been betrayed and his husband had no true feelings for him, Quinn would not have called._

“Oh, don’t be like that,” the woman said, “MI6 sent us to help you.”

“Us?” Quinn asked.

“Us,” James agreed as steadily as he could while falling to pieces inside, and pushed the door open wider and stepped inside the room. “Hello, Quinn.”

Quinn, already pale, turned ashen. A strange emotion flitted briefly through his eyes before he pulled himself back together. “007,” he said in an emotionless voice.

James felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. _What were you expecting_? The wicked little voice asked inside him, _Did you think he would fall into your arms and pepper your face with kisses as if nothing had ever happened? Don’t you remember how you threw him out of the house? No one with even a little bit of self-preservation would react to such treatment with affection._

Quinn’s next words pulled James out of his darkening thoughts, “Your jacket is loose,” he said quietly, “You haven’t been eating enough.”

James gave him a small, brittle smile, “I’ve been in mourning. My husband was shot off the top of a train.”

The two men lapsed into a tense silence.

The woman coughed as the silence stretched, drawing attention to herself. “There’s new information from Q Branch.”

“Oh?” Quinn’s attention shifted from James onto the female agent, leaving James feeling strangely relieved and bereft. “And why isn’t the Quartermaster here?”

“Q’s afraid of flying,” she replied.

Quinn raised a disbelieving eyebrow but did not say anything other than, “Is that so? Well then. What does the Q Branch have for us then?”

~*~

Several hours later, Quinn was tucked into a corner nursing a glass of champagne as he watched James enter. He’d given James the chip he’d lifted off Patrice in Shanghai to cash on the female agent’s advice on grounds that Quinn looked too young to be gambling much less drinking. He rolled his eyes as he listened to James flirt with the support agent. He just had to have married the infamous womanizer, he thought ruefully. Should have married Alec instead. At least he’s more enamored with explosions than women.

Sudden silence in his earwig told him he’d said that out loud. Oops.

“Don’t be jealous, darling,” James suddenly purred, and Quinn knew James well enough to pick out the concealed hurt in his tone, “You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Mind on the task at hand, 007,” he snapped. “Cash the damned chip and see what nibbles on the bait.”

Quinn determinedly did not examine the guilt that swelled in his chest as James said in a more subdued tone, “As you wish.”

Quinn determinedly did not pay attention as James cashed the chip and was approached by a dark, smoky eyed woman. He watched only enough to recognize that the woman’s bodyguards would very likely attack James as soon as he tried to leave. He could not, however, stop watching and listening as James and the woman flirted outrageously at the bar. The longer Quinn watched, the more he understood how it was that women would so happily fall into James’ bed. He knew also, having come to this realization, that if James held out his hand to him, Quinn would fall unhesitatingly into his arms all over again.

Then James dropped his earwig into Quinn’s glass of champagne and he knew that even if James took him back, neither of them would look at the other in the same way ever again. He took a deep breath and released it quietly. Now was not the time for introspection or discussion. At this moment, there was only one priority and that was the mission. Everything else could wait.

~*~

Quinn hates the waiting. But he’s a field agent, and his waits with his laptop open, watching for the signal that James would send in order to be extracted back to England. He pays Eve Moneypenny, the agent who shot him in Istanbul, no mind. His entire attention is on the laptop, on the knowledge that his husband was bedding a woman who was the lover of their target, whomever he was, and that he would soon be in grave danger. Quinn wants desperately to hear James speak to him with love again, every fiber of his being straining to be near James, because if his behavior in the casino was any indication, there was still that chance. Quinn would happily see the world burn to be able to love James and to know that James loved him again.

And then in the middle of the morning, the laptop chimes and a red dot appears on a map. Quinn hisses quietly under his breath as his fingers fly over the keys to get a closer lock on James’ location even as he sends a message to Q for extraction. They’ll meet James at his destination.

~*~

Raoul Silva is captured, and Quinn could almost kick James for taunting the man with the Q Branch’s new radio, a miniaturized a rip-off of Boothroyd’s original. Once Silva is put into isolation, and M is finished baiting him, she orders James and Quinn into the new Q’s office. When the Quartermaster protests, M shouts at him for being a damned fool and to get out of the bloody office and get to work breaking into Silva’s computer because she wanted the information in there yesterday! Quinn laughs openly as he hacks the new Q’s network with ridiculous ease and blacks out the office, giving himself and James complete privacy.

Then things get awkward. James curses quietly as he fiddles with the Quartermaster’s coffeemaker, a great silver monstrosity that makes Quinn want to hack it apart when he realizes that it's a damned Keurig. James finally gets the thing to make some truly god awful coffee and the two settle onto Q’s lumpy sofa. The silence stretched, and Quinn finally took the situation into his own hands.

“I wasn’t spying on you,” he said quietly as he set the mug on the floor beside his feet, “I wouldn’t have even if ordered to. Especially after we married.”

James fiddled with his mug and said just as quietly, “I know. M and Boothroyd told me after you were shot. They didn’t interfere with us except to make sure we never met inside of MI6 and to ensure that we received missions and returned to London only a few hours apart.”

He set the mug on the desk and leaned over to cradle Quinn’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry. You’ll never really believe me about it, but I’m sorry. I love you so much, and when I found out… I shouldn’t have… I was too harsh. I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.”

Quinn brushed his knuckles over the line of James’ jaw and said softly, “You frightened me. I really thought you were going to shoot me right there in the living room. Have you nothing to say about that?”

James leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together and murmured, “I overreacted. I shouldn’t have, but… I am very sorry you know.”

Quinn dropped his hand into his lap. “You… you can’t just say things like that and expect everything to go back to the way things were,” Quinn said. “It doesn’t change that you didn’t trust me. You didn’t stop to let me explain or try to let me know how you came to your conclusion. That is what hurts most, James, that you didn’t trust me.” He pulled back and looked James in the eye and said gently, “You didn’t trust me then, and you still don’t trust me now.”

James dropped his hands onto Quinn’s shoulders and said bluntly, “No. We lied to each other for ten years. It would be hard for us to trust each other after all that. It doesn’t change that I love you. As long as you still love me in turn, we can try again. I am willing to try to rebuild what we had. It won’t ever be the same again because we know now the nature of each other’s work, but we can make it work. Just… No more lies.”

Quinn stared at James for a moment, feeling his pulse flutter. His eyes were so blue and so earnest, and Quinn wondered if there was any other answer he could have given. If he said no, it would be a lie, but James would leave and he’d never see him again. If he said yes…. If he said no, he had everything to loose. If he said yes, he had everything to gain. A new start. And no more lies.

Slowly, Quinn leaned forward and pressed a kiss over James’ right eye. “No more lies,” he murmured against warm skin, “and we can try.”

James grinned boyishly as he pulled Quinn into his lap. “No more lies,” he agreed and brushed light kisses over Quinn’s cheekbones, “Quinn. My dear, lovely Quinn.”

Quinn pressed his nose into James’ neck under his ear and murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t call to let you know I was still alive.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel as if you couldn’t come home,” James said quietly as he ran his fingers through Quinn’s hair, “In a way, I’m happy to know what you do for a living. I know what you are capable of, and I know what you face out there. I won’t ever stop worrying, but at least I know the type of things you will face in the field.”

Quinn sighed and kissed James on the forehead, then over his eyes, his nose, and murmured, “And you claim you’re not a romantic,” and captured his lips in a slow, chaste, loving kiss.

James chuckled as they parted. “Now if that is sorted, shall we see if Q has found anything on Silva’s computer?”

“He’s an idiot,” Quinn complained but got up anyway, “I’d rather stay here and kiss you than go out there and watch as he botches the job.”

James laughed, “Then we absolutely must go out there and make fun of Q as he proves his ineptitude.”

“Will you tell him about the Komodo Dragon?” Quinn asked, “Please tell me you’re going to tell him how a Komodo Dragon ate your gun! I’ll take a picture to commemorate his aneurysm.”

James stood up and asked bemusedly, “You really don’t like Q, do you?”

Quinn paused and said, “He’s a moronic, pretentious, condescending ass. Just calling him an ass is an insult to all asses. He should shoot himself and let someone more qualified become Quartermaster. Did you see the goddamned radio he gave me? It’s the same one Boothroyd made! Only smaller! He spent thirty minutes lecturing me in the National Gallery about how field agents are all brawn, no brains, and should not be allowed anywhere near Q Branch tech much less into Q Branch itself! As if the bare bones of the kit is of any use! Age is no guarantee of efficiency!”

“And youth,” James rebutted, pulling Quinn close to press a kiss to his forehead, “is no guarantee of innovation. I’m sure given time, he’ll come around to what a Quartermaster really needs to be.”

Quinn huffed, “That’ll be the day.” He pulled away gently to undo the black out protocols and paused. “Did you know?” he said suddenly, “I was the one who wrote these blackout protocols. Boothroyd figured out that if he gave me some coding work, I’d actually get so distracted that I would stay in Medical rather than go haring off the way you and Alec do. A lot of the encryptions on the field personnel files are my work. This new Q probably doesn’t know that before Istanbul, Boothroyd and I were planning out how to update and upgrade the firewalls for MI6’s network.”

Even though all of MI6 knows that 003 and 007 are married by this point, James doesn’t touch him as the black out protocols are lifted. “Everything will be alright,” he said gently.

~*~

Things do not turn out alright. Q manages to allow Silva to hack into MI6, and the virus opens all the doors. Silva escapes and drops a train into the emergency quarters for Q Branch and tries to kill James and Quinn with another under Grand Central Station. With no response from Q Branch, James and Quinn are forced to take M to Skyfall. James drives them in Quinn’s Jaguar, that according to Quinn, had been a wedding present from Boothroyd, which he’d put into storage when Quinn had died. In the backseat, Quinn uses the on-board computer to lay out a trail of breadcrumbs for Silva.

They know without a doubt; this is the end.

~*~

TBC


	3. We will Stand Tall at Skyfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Quinn flirt. Silva attacks.

~*~

Quinn had directed James to the warehouse complex where Quinn’s things had been put into storage after the botched mission in Istanbul. As James killed the engine, Quinn and M got out of the car and Quinn began to unlock the gate.

“I’m not sleeping in there, if that’s what you’re planning,” M said waspishly.

“We’re changing cars,” Quinn said as he shoved the door wide open and flicked on a light.

James knew immediately what they were here for. He remembered far too well how much it had hurt to drive that car; the same vehicle that he and Quinn often laughed about whenever they parked together; taking simple joy in the innocuous hilarity of seeing a 2003 Jaguar and a vintage Aston Martin parked side by side in the garage.

When Quinn and James had gotten married ten years ago, Q—Boothroyd that is—had given Quinn the modified and weaponized 2003 Jaguar X-Type as a wedding present. When Quinn had been shot in Turkey, Boothroyd had driven Alec and James to Quinn’s flat so they could sort his effects and it had been James who had driven the Jaguar to the warehouse to be put into storage.

James remembered how choked up he had been when he looked more closely and finally noticed the similarities to his Aston Martin, because Boothroyd, brilliant as he was, was predictable in how he weaponized cars. He found the eject button hidden in the gearshift and the switches and dials that controlled concealed weaponry and the panels that hid updated GPS and on-board computers. James had dug around in the interior and found a personalized Sig Sauer tucked into the underside of the driver’s seat, a dozen throwing knives in the glove compartment, and a button in the trunk that would raise the false bottom to reveal a small armory.

It had been the miniature armory that told James the most about Quinn, who was good at working with his hands, but was also a very good shot if the half dozen different sniper rifles and scopes were any indication. There were grappling hooks and air rifles and dart guns. He’d even found a water pistol meant to shoot acid and small caliber handguns. There were a ridiculous number of knives and of all things, an actual set of Japanese swords. He’d even found no less than four burner phones and three state-of-the-art laptops.

James had felt absurdly proud at what he learned about his husband from the armory, because it meant that Quinn was good at what he did, and was especially well suited to the type of missions that required him to either get in close or kill from a distance. James had felt so proud of Quinn and the things the car told him his husband had accomplished and was capable of, but he was also sad that Quinn would never be able to share this with him. This better understanding of his husband had been what had broken James the most, the knowledge that they would never talk about this unknowingly shared secret that had lain between them. They would never be able to talk without any secrets between them. There would always be this; the type of agents that they were but never knew; that would be between them, and James had been left behind to live with this knowledge. 

It had hurt.

It had hurt so much that James had been hard pressed not to activate the car’s self-destruct protocols and sit inside as he and the car went up in a ball of flames.

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to destroy all he had left of Quinn. And as he watched Quinn pull the tarp off his car, James felt weary. What good luck that he hadn’t killed himself at his lowest, because what would Quinn have come home to?

Quinn grinned, “James, you’re driving. I’ll lay down some breadcrumbs for Silva to follow as we go. Get in the car, M.”

Green eyes gleamed in the dim light, and James felt a swell of love so strong that he would have staggered if he were not still leaning against the car they’d essentially kidnapped M with.

“Brilliant boy,” he murmured, stalking to his husband and pulling him close, “My brilliant, beautiful boy,” James murmured into riotous black curls, “Wherever would I be without you?”

“Dead in a ditch possibly,” Quinn said pithily, “Now stop pawing at me and get in the car, Mr. Bond.”

James laughed and pressed a kiss to his temple before doing as he was told. M was already in the backseat as Quinn tossed in a blanket and climbed into the front passenger seat with his laptop bag. He drove the car out of the warehouse and left Quinn lock the gate before getting into the car and opening his laptop.

“Isn’t there already GPS in this car?” James asked when he realized that Quinn was creating a digital trail, “There should be since it’s a—well, we can’t exactly call it new now can we?”

“Shut up, James,” Quinn said without heat, “and yes, there is GPS in this car. Normally it would be enabled from Q Branch, but I disabled that particular function ages ago when I went off grid in Bucharest. If this car is tracked, it’s only because I want it to be.”

“Where are we going then?” James asked.

Quinn’s fingers stilled on the keys. “I should think that was obvious,” he drawled, “We’re going to Skyfall. You promised to show me your childhood home, remember? Now is your chance.”

“So demanding,” James sighed, “How have I never notice what a high maintenance little shit you are?”

“Because you were too enamored with my mouth and my hands,” Quinn quipped.

In the backseat, M sighed, “Stop flirting, the both of you. You’re making me ill.”

Both men laughed and the drive was silent but for the clicking of laptop keys.

~*~

Once at Skyfall, the three stepped slowly into the house, James at the front, M in the middle and Quinn to watch their backs. As they entered the lodge, Quinn could understand how James could have grown into the man that he was. The house was large, dark, and hard while the moors were damp and featureless.

There was a footstep from the depths of the house and Quinn and James immediately reached for their guns. James took several cautious steps forward and Quinn moved to place his body between M and whoever might appear.

“Who goes there?” an old man carrying a shot gun emerged from the shadows asked a gruff voice. James’ shoulders relaxed slight as the old man lowered his shotgun slightly. “Well,” he said, “If it isn’t James Bond.”

“Good gods, man,” James said as he strode forward, “are you still alive?”

The two men laughed and embraced briefly and James turned toward M and Quinn. “This is Kincade,” he said, “He’s been here as Gamekeeper for as long as I can remember.” He reached forward and drew Quinn toward him, “Kincade, this is Quinn. My husband.”

Quinn gave James an incredulous look while Kincade said wryly, “I know. I was at the wedding.”

James went silent and Quinn smiled gently, brushing his hand down James’ arm reassuringly. “I’m sorry about James,” Quinn said to Kincade, “I came back from the dead less than a week ago and James is still getting used to it.”

Kincade blinked and nodded slowly.

James cleared his throat. “M,” he said, “meet Kincade. Kincade, this is M.”

“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Kincade said as he shook M’s hand.

“The pleasure is mine,” M replied.

“So,” Kincade turned to James, “What brings you to Skyfall? Never thought you’d come back here after the wedding, especially when that one,” he tilted his chin at Quinn who had the good grace to look abashed, “died.”

“Some men are coming to kill us,” Quinn replied.

“And we are going to kill them first,” James declared, blue eyes flinty.

“Well,” Kincade said after a pause, “let’s get started then.”

~*~

Once all the preparations to trap Skyfall had been finished, Quinn had sent a message to Tanner. He then blocked all further communications from MI6, unwilling to leave his or James and M’s lives in the hands of the incompetent new Quartermaster. From there, there was nothing left to do but wait. There was possibly time for a quickie, but James and Quinn were professionals and the situation was far too volatile to risk being caught with their pants down.

If they survived what was to come though, well, there would be plenty of time for that. Their marriage was damaged, but they were Double-Ohs and they could work together. They would cooperate and treat each other as colleagues rather than life partners to protect M and keep her safe, and then they would deal with repairing their relationship after. Neither man intended to die in the back end of nowhere in the Scottish highlands. They would survive, come hell or high water.

Everything was ready. Skyfall had been trapped in such a way that they would likely have to spend thousands of pounds to repair. M was seated on a cloth covered chaise in a drawing room while Kincade was in the kitchen. James and Quinn stood shoulder to shoulder in the door of the drawing room, arguing quietly about who would man the Jaguar outside. Quinn was determined to do it on grounds that it was his car and James was unwilling to let Quinn take such a risky position, Double-Oh or not.

In the end, Silva’s men put an end to the argument when they arrived and Kincade called the warning. James was the one to make it out of the house and into the Jaguar first, to Quinn’s dismay, and Quinn huffed but went back inside to take his position one of the side doors.

~*~

When there is a lull in the fighting, or to be accurate, when the Director of MI6, two Double-Oh agents, and an aging Gamekeeper kill all of Silva’s advance guard, they put away the gun collection in favor of the guns Silva’s men were no longer using. Quinn takes the time to pack his arsenal back into the Jaguar for safekeeping.

None of them are hurt, except for M, but it’s a flesh wound and the bleeding stops after a bit of pressure is applied.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Quinn asks quietly later. “There is a first aid kit in the bath and I can fetch it if you need it.”

“For goodness sake, Quinn,” M says, exasperated, “who is the mother here, me or you? I said I’m fine. My pride stings a bit, but I never was the best shot.”

Quinn studied his mother, though no one knew except maybe Mallory and Tanner, and nodded his acceptance. “If you’re sure, M.”

Suddenly, they hear something distinctly out of place on the Scottish moors: Music.

“Is that AC-DC?” Quinn wondered out loud, “It seems Silva has a sense of humor.”

James glanced out the window and cursed in Russian, drawing everyone’s attention toward him. “Behind the wall!” he barked.

They all move to comply, and not a moment too soon, because once the sound of rotors can be heard over the music, the Lodge is peppered with bullets. The projectiles rip apart the shutters and the furniture. Quinn quickly calculates the trajectory and realizes that the helicopter is going to keep shooting while it circles the house. They’re sitting ducks because the wall doesn’t provide very much cover. But there is a corner in the kitchen that would.

“Into the corner!” Quinn shouted, pushing M toward the kitchen.

James gets the idea at the same time and drags M with him. Kincade and Quinn follow. Quinn does not get behind cover quite quickly enough, because he feels hot searing pain in his side just as he crams into the alcove with the others. He gives no indication of the pain and is grateful that his jacket is dark in color and for the poor light inside the house. If he does up his buttons, the wound will not be visible. Outside, the shooting stops.

“Well,” he says, voice strained, “that was fun. Let’s not do that again.”

James chuckled breathlessly, “It’s in the job description to get shot at, Quinn.”

“Shove it, you old dog,” Quinn retorted, “Kincade, get M out of the house. James and I will meet you both in the chapel once we’ve dealt with Silva.”

Kincade and M quickly left the alcove for the library. James shifted and placed his hands on Quinn’s shoulders, gently turning him to face him. Faintly, they hear Silva shouting outside.

“You’re bleeding.”

Quinn cursed inwardly. Apparently, James was more perceptive than he’d thought. Well, no point hiding, and said, “Yes.”

James studied him briefly and said, “You should go with M and Kincade.”

“James-“ Quinn protested and James laid a finger on his lips.

“No, listen to me,” James said, “They might not make it across the moor unmolested. Someone has to be with them. Kincade is an old man and M hasn’t been on the field in ages. I swear I won’t take any risks, but I can’t lose you, not a second time.”

Quinn lunged forward and grabbed James’s lapels and dragged him down to capture his lips. He feels James’s hands slide off his shoulders and down his arms and snake round his waist even as James nips at his lips, desperate and hungry. They part.

“Don’t you dare die on me, James Bond,” Quinn whispers.

“Ressurection is my specialty,” James murmured.

Quinn nodded and pulled away. Moments later, James is standing in the alcove alone. Clatter cuts through the silence and James turns as a grenade explodes in the hall. James darts through the kitchen toward the pantry where the kerosene is kept. He grabs the last stick of dynamite while he hauls the two large canisters into the library and takes only a breath to mourn his father’s books before he starts winding the fuse around the canisters. Outside, he hears gunshots ricocheting off the armored panels of Quinn’s Jaguar. The explosion catches him by surprise and his face hardens when he realizes that Boothroyd’s wedding present for him and Quinn had just been destroyed. James hopes Silva survives, if only because he looks forward to seeing the revenge Quinn would deal out for that particular insult. He lights the fuse and makes his way to the priest hole. Just before ducking into the tunnels, he takes one last look at his childhood home.

“I never liked this place anyway,” he mutters and bolts into the tunnels.

~*~

TBC


	4. When the Sky Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. This has been wonderful, but my heart hurts now. I would like to thank everyone for their support. Fusterya, this is for you. Sorry I couldn't give you the happy ending you wanted.

Part 4

~*~

Quinn laughs as James pushes him up against the wall and pins his hands above his head. “That’s cheating, James,” he teased.

“All’s fair in love and war, darling,” James chuckled and swooped down to capture his lips.

Heat pools in his groin as his husband ravishes his mouth, and Quinn gives as good as he gets, sucking on James’s tongue and licking inside his mouth. He whines into James’s mouth as the other man growls and nips at his lips and tilts his hips so their clothed arousals press together. They part only when the need for air is too much and Quinn licks at the hollow of James’s throat.

“Take me to bed, James,” he pants as he lifts a leg to hook it around James’ waist and rocks against his husband.

“God, Quinn,” James groaned and scoops up Quinn, who wraps his legs around James waist, and carries him into the bedroom.

~*~

Alec Trevelyan returns to the emergency headquarters of MI6 from his mission in Ukraine to find chaos. He learns from Tanner that Quinn Bond was alive and had retaken his old position as 003. He learns also that James and Quinn had taken M down to Skyfall to face Silva without interference. Two days later, when the retrieval team is sent to Skyfall, Alec goes with them. They find the childhood home of James Bond in ruin with the remnants of a helicopter in the middle of the rubble and more than a few dead bodies.

They enter the chapel where M had called from to find three prone figures. Silva lay near the door, face down with a knife in his back. James has been laid on a pew with a bloodstained coat, Quinn’s, Alec realizes with a sinking feeling in his gut, covering his head. He’s not breathing, 006 notes with despair. M is sitting in the middle of the aisle, and she is cradling Quinn’s head in her lap. He’s still breathing, but each breath is labored and shallow, and there is a bloody wound on 003’s side bleeding sluggishly.

More than one agent is surprised when they find out later that Quinn is M’s son, and because 003 is married to 007, that makes James M’s son-in-law.

~*~

M sits beside the still figure in the hospital bed in the heart of MI6’s medical branch while typing slowly on a laptop set on a small folding table. She glances at the figure as her fingers still on the keys.

“I’ve called him many things, but a paragon of British fortitude has never been one of them. Until now,” she said to the unresponsive figure beside her. Her voice has always been hard and unrelenting, but now she only sounds tired and sad. “He would hate it,” her smile is brittle.

There is a knock on the door, and M turns to see a Doctor and a pair of orderlies and a nurse.

“Ma’am?” the doctor says gently, “It is time.”

M nodded and the doctor enters the room.

Moments later, the silence of the medical ward is broken by the shrilling of a heart monitor.

~*~

They lie together in the dark, sweat and semen cooling on their skin. For some reason though, he can’t seem to catch his breath. James’s breathing, drat the man, has since returned to its normal rate.

“James?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you happy?”

James rolls himself back on top of Quinn, pinning him to the mattress, holding himself up with his forearms pressed on either side of Quinn’s head. Quinn can barely see ice blue eyes looking at him full of love and some unidentifiable emotion in the dim light that filters through the curtains.

“Are you?” James’s voice is gentle.

“Very happy,” Quinn said as he reached out to cup James’s face in his hands. “But do you ever wonder if it doesn’t seem like something is wrong?”

“Yes,” James agreed, and Quinn identifies the look in James’s eyes. It’s sadness. His heart hurts to see that beloved face filled with such sadness. James seems to realize what Quinn has seen on his face, because he lets his full weight settle on top of Quinn as he draws him close, burying Quinn’s face into the crook of his neck. “But it’s nothing to worry about, Quinn. You’re here and I’m here. That’s what’s important.”

Quinn can hardly breathe with James’s weight on top of him and his face pressed into James’s neck. He doesn’t protest it though and slides his hands over powerful shoulders to hold his husband close.

“Sleep Quinn,” James says.

This close, Quinn feels James’s voice rumbling in his chest. Normally, this would make him unbearably hard, but right now, he only feels content. He doesn’t mind that he can’t breathe or that his heart is pounding loudly in his ears. He closes his eyes as fingers run through his hair.

“Sleep, Quinn. I am here.”

Quinn sleeps.

~*~

Alec Trevelyan lays flowers on the two new graves at Skyfall. They are buried side by side, 003 and 007, Quinn and James Bond. Two agents had taken over the coveted positions now, but Alec will always believe in his heart that 003 and 007 are Quinn and James Bond respectively. M has since retired and Gareth Mallory has taken her place as director of MI6. Skyfall and all assets belonging to the two deceased agents had since been bequeathed to Alec.

“Not that I’m happy about it,” he tells the two gravestones. “I thought it would be a new start when you came back Quinn. But now you’ve gone again, and you’ve taken James with you. Your mother is heartbroken, really. MI6 is completely different too.” He sighed. “I should have known that the pair of you would be trouble. Hopeless, the pair of you.”

He stands there in silence for a moment longer and shakes his head and turns to leave.

Six months later, 006 was caught in an explosion in Dubai. There is no body recovered. A new gravestone appears at Skyfall.

~*~

Finite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts were:
> 
> 1) Skyfall AU where Q and James's positions are exchanged and it is Q shot off the top of a train in Turkey.  
> 2) Q is a Double-Oh and Dench!M's son.  
> 3) James and Q are married but don't realize they both work for MI6. They find out by accident and James thinks Q is spying on him and Q thinks M send James to kill him.


End file.
